Son of Kings
by Levade
Summary: I never let myself reminisce. It hurts too much, but tonight... Tonight I will allow it in the candlelight flickering low and casting dancing shadows on the wall. I will forget the cries of those who survived the Sudden Flame, the despair that overtook my uncle, his death placing the crown on the head of the one across the table from me.


_My failed attempt at writing something happy for "Sharing a Meal" in the Feanorian Fun Bingo. Darn elves._

* * *

I watch him, watch him laughing, skin around his eyes crinkling as he holds the baby, holds him as if he has always held a child thus. The infant has a grip on his thumb, tiny fingers with impossibly tiny fingernails, but the grip is strong. I know, for I held him earlier.

And stared at him in wonder.

How did he have the courage to have a child here in these darkened lands? To marry was daring enough, though did I doubt the courage of my cousin, my Fíno?

Never.

Reckless, hard-headed and valiant - all of those are true traits in him, but now I see a more tender side.

He looks up and sees me watching him. The smile is brilliantly fierce. "Is he not magnificent, Maitimo?"

I nod and smile. How can I not smile? He is glorious. "He is beautiful, Fíno."

"Come. Let us eat while he is sleeping for once he is awake, there is no peace." Laughing softly, he carries the babe in one arm, and sits at the table. Waving me to sit across from him, he charms me until I relent and put stew on my plate. "It has been a long time since we sat at a table together to do more than go over battle plans or rationing."

I relax as he talks. This is what I have missed - Fíno waxing enthusiastically about whatever project is currently occupying his attention. I cannot do the same any longer. Not since... Not since the cliff where I begged him to kill me.

Of course he didn't. He is Findekáno, the contrary, the reckless, the impossibly brave. I belatedly realize that he has stopped speaking and is looking at me, one dark eyebrow arched.

"Are you even listening to me?"

I let a smile twist my lips. Listen? How could he doubt? "Lost you somewhere at the Falas and Círdan."

He rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair, but his eyes are soft. "I am sending Ereinion to Círdan, Maitimo. Oh, not yet, don't look so dismayed." Looking at the babe, he brushes his knuckle along one rounded cheek, rosy in innocent sleep. "He must stay safe. Must have time to grow, apart from all the battles and wars."

I know how he loves the child. It is clear to anyone who sees him holding his son. How could he even think of parting with him? There is nothing I can think to say. I remember holding my brothers as infants and watching them sleep, dark eyelashes fanned on rounded cheeks. Holding chubby hands as they took their first steps, and cuddling them to wipe tears away when they fell and hurt themselves. "When?"

He sighs and bends his head to kiss the babe's forehead. "Within the next twenty years. My heart bids me not to wait too long."

Twenty years. It is far too short a time to be parted from a son, far too quick for such a bond to be stretched. Broken. I take a deep breath and stand. "Let me hold him again, Fíno. Let me feel what innocence is again." I walk around and he passes the babe to me, watching as I walk back to my chair and sit. "He favors you."

A snort, and he spoons up the stew, chewing and swallowing before answering. "If you can tell that in such a young one, then you are, indeed, amazing."

"I am." Said with a smile, I laugh softly and stare in wonder at the babe. He is beautiful, of course. How could he not be? "Lest you forget, there were six babes born after me, and I did my fair share of minding them."

Tearing off a chunk of break he grins. "Then you won't mind changing a soiled nappy or two?"

"Easy at this age." I shake my head. "It's when they get older -"

"I do have younger siblings, you'll recall."

"I recall your brother, Turvo, racing about the house madly, and Aunt Anairë chasing him, trying to get him to wear clothing."

"Írissë had no shame either," he says and laughs. "Poor Ammë."

We talk late into the night, until the candles are all but guttering and the nurse has taken the babe away to put him to bed.

He sighs and fills our goblets. "I miss sitting around that table with your insane family, listening and watching the chaos."

"Káno playing some lovesick song, Tyelko barking and chirping or whatever it was he had learned that day." I never let myself reminisce. It hurts too much, but tonight... Tonight I will allow it in the candlelight flickering low and casting dancing shadows on the wall. I will forget the cries of those who survived the Sudden Flame, the despair that overtook my uncle, his death placing the crown on the head of the one across the table from me.

I will remember how peaceful this night is in the company of my cousin. Sharing good wine and better conversation. How often it is the little things, a shared meal, a beloved companion, that I miss the most. "Pick up your harp, Fíno, and sing for me."

He shakes his head, but does as I bid and returns with a small harp. As he tunes it, he slants a glance at me. "What shall I sing of for you?"

I don't want to dwell on sadness. Or bitterness. So much is wrong these days. "Sing the lullaby you used to sing to Turvo."

"That thing?" Fingers dancing down the strings, he laughs quietly. "He was a simple audience then, Maitimo, all drool and big eyes."

"Please, Fíno. Just sing it." He does, and I let my mind slip back in reverie, back to those days of silver and gold mingling, of green pastures and laughter, and the deep blue sky of my youth.


End file.
